I’m exhausted by the time I walk into Gray’s apartment. I haven’t seen him all day, and part of me is relieved. I managed to slip out of bed before he woke up, avoiding awkwardness between us. He was gone by the time I walked out of the shower, and I’m scared to face him. I’m scared he’ll have questions I can’t answer. Besides, things have been awkward between us ever since we went out for drinks.
I’ve been feeling conflicted. I’m falling for Grayson, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t stop it. Every day, my feelings grow. It was easy to ignore at the start, but now? Impossible.
I’m startled when I find him standing in the kitchen, staring at a box of eggs. He looks up at me and the helplessness in his eyes guts me.
“What’s wrong, Gray?”
He walks up to me and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen counter. Before I realize what’s happening, he’s got his hands wrapped around my waist and he’s lifting me on top of the counter.
“Tell me how you do it,” he says. “How do you make your scrambled eggs so magical? I’ve made them hundreds of times, Ari. But they never taste like yours.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s what’s got you so worried?”
He stares at me, expecting an answer, and I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a mixture of green chili, ginger and garlic, Gray.”
He looks outraged, and my heart flutters ever so slightly. He’s adorable.
“It’s that simple?”
I nod, and he stalks toward the fridge, in search of green chili, I assume. He returns with the ingredients, looking triumphant, and I just about manage to suppress a giggle.
“So, I guess we’re having scrambled eggs for dinner?”
Gray pauses and looks up at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve asked what you wanted. I just… I don’t know. Usually when I have a rough day, scrambled eggs make it better. It’s stupid, now that I’m saying it out loud. I just wanted to do something nice for you, I guess.”
I look at him with wide eyes. “This is for me?”
He walks up to me and places his arms on either side of me, leaning in. “Yes.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders instinctively and hug him. I must have startled him because it takes him a couple of seconds to hug me back, but when he does, he holds me tightly. I’ve been trying my hardest to stay away, to remind myself that he’s Noah’s best friend, but it’s too hard. Staying away from him is too hard.
“I’d ask you if you were okay, but I know you’ll just lie to me,” he murmurs.
I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I’m so grateful you were there last night.”
Gray buries his hand into my hair and sighs. “Sweetheart, there’s nowhere I’d rather have been last night.”
He pulls away to look at me, his hand still tangled in my hair. “Would it help you if I sleep with you?”
My heart skips a beat and I feel heat spread across my cheeks, even though I know he doesn’t mean it that way. He notices my blush and smirks.
“I mean… I can do that too, if you want. Might help you sleep,” he says, teasing me. My mind can’t help but go there. He felt so hard and big against me this morning, and I can’t help but wonder what he’d feel like inside me. I push the thought away, annoyed with myself for even thinking it. This. This is why I’m staying away from Gray. Because I find myself wanting more of him than he’ll ever give me. I look away and bite down on my lip.
“All jokes aside,” he says. “I’d be happy to. You seemed to calm down in my arms. If you think it’ll help, I’d be happy to.”
I look into his eyes, wondering if he’s just saying that because he thinks it’s the right thing to say, but I can’t find a trace of insincerity in his eyes.
“You don’t think it’d be weird?”
Gray lifts his free hand to my face and brushes my hair behind my ear. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t weird last night, was it?”
I shake my head.
“Then it’s done.”
He takes a step away and starts to chop the chilis and garlic while I try my hardest to still my racing heart. He’s truly certain that spending the night with me wouldn’t affect him in any way, isn’t he?
I push down the unwarranted resentment I feel. I’m being ungrateful, and I can barely make sense of my feelings. Gray has always treated me like family, and I’ve never had an issue with that. I shouldn’t want anything else from him.
“So I noticed you went out for lunch with Riley?”
I look up at him, startled.
“The two of you walked into the office together, looking awfully chummy.”
“Chummy?” I repeat. That’s not quite how I’d put it. It was awkward at best. I’m still embarrassed about the way I acted during lunch. I should’ve hidden my concerns and suspicions better. For all I know, he was just trying to be friendly.
“He’s a nice guy. Clever, too.”
“He thinks I watch tentacle porn,” I blurt out.
Gray freezes, spatula in hand. “He what?”
I laugh and try my best to explain the story, expecting Gray to find it funny. Instead, his expression becomes entirely unreadable.
“Oh, so you two were flirting, huh?” he says, his tone… off. “That’s nice.”
I blink, confused. “What? No. Not at all. I think he was just joking because he can’t seem to find much dirt on me.”
Gray turns the stove off and empties the contents of the pan onto a plate without much care. He stares at the plate and then pushes it toward me.
“I’m not hungry,” he says. “You have this.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me sitting on top of the counter, confused as to what just happened.
I eat my eggs in silence, replaying our conversation in my mind, wondering what I might have said to annoy him. I’m worried that he thinks I’m not taking my job seriously. I don’t want him to think I’m going around flirting or anything like that.
I’m still thinking about it when I get into bed later that night. Gray disappeared after making me eggs, and I’m not sure what to think of it. He seemed angry, or maybe disappointed is a better way to explain the look in his eyes.
I shake my head and reach for my phone, trying my hardest to stop thinking about him. I absentmindedly scroll through the notifications on the Nemesis Platform, freezing when I realize what I’m reading.
It’s the historical information I requested on Peter Simmons. I scroll through it, my heart squeezing painfully.
He was laid off a few months before the robbery, and two weeks before that fatal day, his house was repossessed. I scroll through all the transactions, the mounting debt, the eventual homelessness. The payments he kept up with the longest were the ones related to his daughter. School fees, piano lessons, tutors.
I read through all the data, slowly connecting the dots. His daughter attended the same school as me. Is that why we were the target?
I still remember his eyes when he saw me standing in the living room. He looked as scared as I was, and at the time I couldn’t understand why he had stacks of my clothes in his hands. But it’s starting to make sense now. His daughter is the same age as me. Is that why he was robbing us? Did he need something for her?
I inhale shakily as I read through the countless messages he’s tried to send her; all of them ignored. I’ve spent years hating this man for taking my parents from me, but it’s starting to look like Noah and I aren’t the only ones whose lives were destroyed.
Peter’s regret is in everything he does. It’s in the anti-gun violence charity donations, the unanswered messages to his daughter, the mundane notes his parole officer is taking.
He’s out of jail, but he continues to pay for his crimes. Every unanswered message and every donation he makes will always remind him of what he took from me.
I’ve been receiving notifications for months now, and never once has he done anything to indicate he might turn to crime again. If anything, his actions betray his regret.
A tear rolls down my cheek and my hands tremble as I will myself to do the right thing.
That has to be enough. It has to be. I can’t lose sight of who I am. I can’t continue to abuse my own platform. He’s paid his dues, and I… I’ll need to accept that.
I have to let this go. I have to finally give my heart a chance to heal. I hesitate and inhale deeply, my finger hovering over the removal button.
I gather my courage and click it, removing Peter Simmons from the Nemesis Watchlist. Months. I kept him on there for months, and there isn’t even a hint of a crime. I need to stop. I have to.
I sniff loudly as I put my phone away, a sense of loss overcoming me. I’ve spent so long hating him. Some days it’s all that kept me sane. And now? Now all I’m left with is sorrow.
I curl into a ball, a sob tearing through my throat. Memories of my parents assail me, and hot tears start to stream down my face.
Devastation unlike anything I’ve ever felt before fills me, and I give in to it, I let it consume me, allowing myself to cry the way I should have done back then.
I tense when strong arms wrap around me and turn in his embrace. “Grayson,” I whisper, choking on my sobs.
He holds me tightly, one hand in my hair, the other wrapped around my waist. He doesn’t say a word — he just holds me the way I need him to.
